When The World Was Done With You
by Cycle Pinsetter
Summary: We all think that the end is written between these two characters, but what if it's not? Who says we can't all have our own way? Sometimes, when you think that the end has been written, there's more to it. Who says one can't find love again when you've
1. The Garden Balcony Revisited

A note from the Authoress: I wrote this on a whim today, there will be more background at the end of the last part. Yes, it contains Tamora Pierce characters, and Romance. Shock of all shocks!!!! Review, and I might actually write more like it.

I shall disclaim: All of these characters belong to Tamora Pierce, and like borrowed Barbie dolls, I have played with them for a while, dressed them in clothes possibly foreign to them, set them into a house that may not be their own, and driven them around a pink 57 Chevy convertible, when really they would have preferred the white Ferarri. Please, let me indulge myself, and perhaps my readers, for this moment's fancy.  
Thank You,  
Em  


~When The World Was Done With You~

A fic by Em, AKA, Cycle Pinsetter 

The old woman paused tiredly on that balcony, her weary eyes gazing across the overgrown garden below. These now dead gardens had once been a part of the many beauties of the palace in Corus. Now they lay in ruin. On this frigid winter evening, the hopelessly tangled brambles were endless shadows, covering the faded garden paths. Weeds had sprung up between the broken rose bushes, their lifeless straw color invading the cold, unyielding stone walls and providing a barren blanket for the thorny brambles. A wave of emotion passed over her as her eyes registered this desolate scene. What emotion was this? The emotion lingered, solidifying the emptiness that was already inside her.  
Was it wrong to come back to this garden? Had she made a mistake by climbing these stairs to gaze a fragment of the past? Were the pleasant memories of the past strong enough to overpower this horrible rush of sorrow and guilt? Why did she feel responsible for the death of this garden? **_I suppose its natural for a person to feel responsible for not preventing the death of something she loves,_** she thought

Once, many many years ago, an old oak tree thrived at the center of this garden. This oak had been the heart of all things living in side the secluded walls. Birds had flocked from all over the palace, and as was myth, the world, to congregate on the sturdy limbs of the trees. And on spring days, the Wild Mages Daine and Numair could be seen with their children, taking advantage of the beautiful weather, happily amongst the animals that found their way into this sanctuary. But the Wild Mages were different people now, their children had grown up, and taken flight, much like the birds that used to frequent the oak's branches. But Corus was no longer the center of the world, and every day now daring voyages were being made in massive ships, searching for something across the sea. It was a large world, with larger problems. The Feudal system was dying, and fiefs were giving rise to large cities. Armies and militias were opting for lighter weigh armor and turning their focus on the foot soldier instead of the cumbersome mounted knight. What was to become of her? What was the saying? Old soldiers don't die, they just fade away?

Queen Thayet had adopted the garden after she had learned that it was one of Queen Lianne's favorite places to walk. The garden had flourished under the care of both Queens. In the spring, a hundred different varieties of flower littered the carefully tended flowerbeds. The soil, already fertile from centuries of silt depositing from the banks of the King's river, yielded the brightest and healthiest blossoms, with aid from her Majesty's most distinguished gardeners. The trees, taken from all over Tortall and several other of the neighboring countries, were always groomed to perfection. Even as Lianne's health failed her, she still entrusted care of the gardens to her gardeners.

There was a intricately carved stone bench by the ancient oak. Jon had once told her that it was a wedding gift to his mother and father from the King and Queen of Maren. From its location in the center of the garden, a person sitting on the bench could see the entire garden. And in the winter, when the trees were barren of leaves, spindly arms clawing at the sky, one could lift their chin and gaze up to the very balcony that she was standing on. And vice versa, if it were years ago, she could look through the naked branches and see the bench at the base of the ancient oak.

But she could not see the bench. The oak's splintered branches obscured the bench. A few years ago (though it was probably ten, as time flows swiftly when one's mind grows old) a bolt of lightning had struck the mighty trunk, separating its massive trunk into two sprawling halves. It stood, a long dead corpse in the center of the garden, as a monument to the fallen garden itself.  
She sighed, pulling her once vibrant, graying hair away from her face to feel the cool night air on her cheeks.

Moments ago, she had ascended the narrow stairs slowly. Her strong leg muscles could take the stress of traveling up the cramped spiral staircase, but it was her heart muscles that protested. These halls were laced with memories upon memories, layered and overlapping. Each single memory triggered a chain of other memories. She tried to quiet her mind.  
As she had traveled down the familiar halls to this staircase, there were several nods of respect, or perhaps sympathy, but the hall was filled mostly with young people hurrying to get where they were going. They regarded her with respectful distance. After all, who should dare to converse with a legend? Regretfully, she suffocated that thought.  
Where were her friends? Must everyone see her as a relic, set on such high a pedestal that they may only look up to admire how brave she looks?  
Her lips had curled in a half smile as she remembered running down these same halls on an errand, many many years younger. The enrollment was an equal number of boys and girls by now. She had studied their faces calmly. Yes, the one on the left was Kalisin's youngest daughter, led around by one of Roald's. She had failed to remember which.  
Roald was a fine King. And his Yamani princess made a lovely queen. _She just didn't care for gardens_ the old woman thought, sadly.

**_Ten years. He's been gone Ten years, and still they look at me as if I am a pathetic specimen of humanity. The mourning is over, and he has long since passed into the realms of the gods. I do not miss him so much anymore, _**she admitted to herself.**_But sometimes I just wish I wasn't so damn lonely all the time._**

She had lived at Pirate's Swoop in those ten years after he died, managing the place, seeing various grandchildren until she had given it over to her eldest, Alianne, and her family. She had come to the palace because she felt that it was the only placed she belonged after he had left her. But even now she felt even more alienated. It wasn't the same. Was the palace still the same bustling convergence as it was back in Jon's day? Maybe the life had been sucked out of herself instead of the building, and the palace still held its same magic.

She looked out across the garden again, a thought passing through her mind. The dead branches, weeds, and debri were just empty shells. Life had fled from these vessels long ago, to populate some other part of Tortall, or perhaps some other realm.

On shakey feet she climbed on the balcony, her feet standing almost firmly on the stone railing. The railing's width held her weight comfortably. She glanced down at the sheer drop below her, feeling cool breath in her lungs as a sharp wind whipped her long loose hair around her. She took a few more breaths, growing accustomed to the height.

**_They may not find me. Who looks in these old gardens anyway?_**They would probably search outside the palace first. This garden would be the last place to look for the great Lioness. And would this fate be the last that anyone would suspect?

She removed her hands from the cool stone wall and stood on the balcony, unaided.**_This is it_**, she told herself, her heart beating. The air was rushing around her, chilling her face and limbs. She could almost feel her heart freezing along with the rest of her body. 

~Whoopsies! I haven't written any more story. Well now, that's a problem, isn't it? Well, if you want to read the end, then maybe you should review it, eh?

Or not. :)


	2. A Sign from the Gods

I shall disclaim: All of these characters belong to Tamora Pierce, and like borrowed Barbie dolls, I have played with them for a while, dressed them in clothes possibly foreign to them, set them into a house that may not be their own, and driven them around a pink 57 Chevy convertible, when really they would have preferred the white Ferarri. Please, let me indulge myself, and perhaps my readers, for this moment's fancy.  
Thank You,  
Em  


~When The World Was Done With You~

(A sign from the gods)

A fic by Em, AKA, Cycle Pinsetter 

There she stood on the cold stone balcony railing, as the harsh wind threatened to expedite her descent downward. Her tired purple-gray eyes flickered between the unforgiving ground, all too far below, and the solid gray stone of the balcony. She could feel her heart beating wildly as she inched her foot forward. **_Move Damn it! _**But it was harder than she had anticipated, she was frozen there, almost unmoving. She sighed, frustrated.

But what was to become of her? She had left her post as King's Champion when Roald became king. What use did they have with an old relic like her? They would keep her around as a reminder of the old regime, guarding her safety, yet watching her warily. What unpredictable, rash thing would the old Lioness do next? **_Don't want me to embarrass Tortall, _**she thought, bitterly.

The muscles in her legs were beginning to stiffen as she glanced at the garden floor once again before drawing her face up, holding her chin high with a determined expression across her countenance. She could hardly move her legs. Now she was going to be there if she took that step or not. As her eyes drifted to the balcony floor behind her, she held back a wave of nausea. Both distances had become equal length. **_It's a matter of will or accident now. I would rather jump willingly than fall. What would George say? _**She considered this for a second. **_Easier than falling off a logor a balcony. _**

Would she see George in the Dark God's Realm? How could it be time to go, she still had so much to learn. Would he be unchanged, or would the Ten years between them prove too long? Would Gary and Raoul be there to meet her, laughing and teasing her like old times? Was she ready for old times? They had all been gone so long, would she feel like time had passed?

**_Thom. Faithful. Alexand Roger. Am I ready to know? _**Foreign feelings surged in her, like fire. Was she ready to see them again? Time seemed to have stopped, as she pondered these questions. Why should she have survived when her friends had passed on? She cringed a little as her thoughts brushed a question that she had hidden deep in her heart for many many years.  
**_Will I meet my mother? Mother_**. The word rang through her ears. If she had failed to find her mother in life, she will surely find her in death. She nodded. That had been the deciding factor. She was going to find her mother.

She lifted her chin higher, across the still, silent trees. The wind had turned into a mild breeze, and it blew across her cheeks pleasantly. A faint smile crossed her face as her eye caught a ray of sunlight streaming through the clouds. Briefly, her eyes followed the stream of light downward. The faint luminescence shown down upon the ancient oak. The added height from railing allowed her to see the stone bench! One splintered and gnarled half rested protectively over the left side of the stone bench. Was the bench a part of the earth now, as she surely would be soon?

**_This must be a sign from the goddess, finally. _**She nodded appreciatively at the light, excepting it as an unspoken go-ahead. **_My mind is mentally prepared_**, she thought. **_I am at peace. _**

But there was movement down below in the garden.

She had suddenly lost her spirit of adventure.

* * *

I am so sorry!!!! Honestly! I didn't mean to drag this out for another part; I meant to end it in the second part! But it seemed kinda lopsided to continue it from here. I suppose that's one thing you will struggle with, my horrible tendency to drag things out. But I will try for the end part tomorrow! Just consider this an interlude...a bridge between the previous part and the next part.


	3. Old Age, Adolescence, and Infancy

I shall disclaim: All of these characters belong to Tamora Pierce, and like borrowed Barbie dolls, I have played with them for a while, dressed them in clothes possibly foreign to them, set them into a house that may not be their own, and driven them around a pink 57 Chevy convertible, when really they would have preferred the white Ferarri. Please, let me indulge myself, and perhaps my readers, for this moment's fancy.  
Thank You,  
Em

This part is dedicated to Grandma Elhers, who was the only relative of mine to remember that I didn't like chocolate, and made oatmeal raisin cookies just for me, and for Grandma Hathaway who embraced reading as much as I do.

~When The World Was Done With You~

(Old Age, Adolescence and Infancy)

A fic by Em, AKA, Cycle Pinsetter 

There she stood on the cold stone balcony railing, as the harsh wind 

Her aching leg muscles protested as she climbed down from the balcony quickly, her boots hitting the stone floor heavily. Her heart was racing still, but for a different reason. Had the person in the garden seen her standing up there, as suicidal as a page in his first month of Knight school? Her mind was beginning to clear. How silly of her! She was acting like a fool. The woman chided herself. She stretched her stiff muscles, brushing her windblown hair from her face.

There was still that matter of the figure in the garden.

Ah yes, the figure in the garden.

She covered the distance between herself and the stairwell in a single (yet stiff) stride. The wind had died down, allowing the air temperature in the cramped staircase to rise. She sighed, making her way carefully down the warn steps. Pictures flashed through her mind as a surge of happiness flickered in her heart. She remembered fondly, times where she couldn't wait to arrive at her destination, taking the steps to or three at a time. Studying her feet, she toyed briefly with the idea of slipping back into those memories.

**_I avoid the balcony only to break my neck on the stairs! Good one, oh valiant Lioness!_**

This time, she stepped out into main hallway confidently, meeting every averted gaze fiercely. She was still a force to be reckoned with, and that would never change. She strode down the hall, eyeing everyone unabashedly. First she watched a few new pages ghost by. Even the smallest page was in his (or –her-- she though happily) finest dress tunic, hair freshly combed. She watched a few of the young ones nervous hurrying towards the kitchens, arms and legs awkward. She smiled with a tinge of melancholy. **_Why isn't innocence something that can be enjoyed when you are young?_** When you're old and bitter, you sometimes long for that innocence of youth. She grinned as she remembered Gary's numerous pranks. **_But we weren't too innocent_**.

Nodding warmly to a few female squires dressed similarly to their male counterparts, she marveled at how displaced she felt. When had she drifted beyond this whole experience? She had always scowled at court events, but in the past 25 years she had finally listened to herself –and to George. It wasn't hard. After the disagreement about the Mindelan girl, she had gradually separated herself from the court. She still performed her duties as King's Champion, but she worked a lot more from the comfort of Pirate's Swoop. The last Court Ball she had attended was over 20 years ago.

She watched the squires' masked nervousness intently. On the outside, they presented themselves as old veterans of the social war, looking down their noses at the pages, snorting in condescension at the slightest bit of ignorance, but behind it all they were even more lost than when they first started down this road. At least when you were a page, people talked about the problems ahead. The exercises at the crack of dawn, the letters and numbers assignments that kept you in the library all hours of the night were the problems of pages, but the ordeal was the concern of the squires. The ordeal represented the entire squire experience, highly anticipated, dramatic, and life changing. By the time you reached your eighteenth birthday you were supposed to have your life sorted out or you were in for a harsh reality check.

**_Midwinter festival._** How many had passed without her stopping to take notice? Her booted feet made an unnatural sound as she hurried down the corridor. She didn't feel underdressed in her comfortable common clothes. She felt sensiblemuch more sensible than the court ladies, painstakingly levering their feet into narrow, hard soled slippers.

A few couples in ballroom attire passed her, the men regal in Tortallan red and gold, and the ladies in the latest bust enhancing style. The knights, proud and stone faced, tried not to cringe as their ladies chattered on about who was wearing genuine Yamani silk and who was wearing manufactured Tortallan silk. Behind them strode clusters of men and women from the King's Own and the Queen's Riders. She caught snippets of their conversation, mostly recounts of battles, but a few snide remarks about the couples in front of her. These two groups of people, the soldiers and theprofessional nobles, presented two different paths that one's life could take after the Ordeal.

Although these roles held the most responsibility, she had found her middle years to be the least stressful and most enjoyable.

As she neared the inner entrance to the palace garden she passed the winter greenhouse. She glanced up at the magically heated glass, noting her reflection in the smooth surface. She studied her amethyst eyes, lined with wrinkles but still the same eyes that she had looked upon years ago. When was it that her hair had grayed? She could still see hints of auburn amongst the gray. What were the worries of old age? Her mind was occupied by thoughts of loneliness and isolation. She tilted her head to the side, accepting the old lady in the glass.

She only hesitated a second at the entrance to the palace gardens. Feeling a wonderful surge of boldness through her veins, she grinned, stepping unflinchingly into the brown-gray stillness. The gray gardens were less haunted than they appeared from above on the balcony. A peaceful death? Orsleep? She glanced around unhurriedly, noting familiar landmarks along the worn cobblestone trail.

**_So many memories!_** She stopped as the tertiary gardens gave way to the rose gardens, almost unable to go forward. She glanced down at her feet, standing at the crossroads. If she went forward, she would be walking through the rose gardens. Any other path would lead her away from the center. She realized that she must go forward to achieve any sort of peace.

As she stepped through the winter canopy, her footsteps faltered. From her position she could now see the twisted oak tree and the stone bench. As she rounded the curve to the opposite side of the tree, she saw him standing there. His back was towards her, but from his commanding posture, she could have recognized him in the dark. A sly smile crossed her lips at this amusing bit of ancient history.

But she didn't need to see him. She already knew who it was.

* * *

Excrement! I didn't mean for part 3 to go like this! Why do I have an unrealistic expectation of my ability to end something? I'm sorry! Flame me! Email me in outrage. If you want to blame somebody, blame Salvador Dali's Old Age, Adolescence and Infancy. ([ http://www.webcoast.com/Dali/69.htm][1]) More background at the end, if it ever comes!

   [1]: 



	4. Mending Walls

I shall disclaim: All of these characters belong to Tamora Pierce, and like borrowed Barbie dolls, I have played with them for a while, dressed them in clothes possibly foreign to them, set them into a house that may not be their own, and driven them around a pink 57 Chevy convertible, when really they would have preferred the white Ferarri. Please, let me indulge myself, and perhaps my readers, for this moment's fancy.  
Thank You,  
Em

_**Stay tuned for an Author's Note after the Fic!**_

~When The World Was Done With You~

(Nature's Mending)

A fic by Em, AKA, Cycle Pinsetter 

How did you know it was me, Alanna? He didn't turn around. The man stood motionless, with his arms folded across his chest, looking into the distance. Though seasoned by age, his voice was as clear and imposing as the first day they had met in the hall of the page's wing.

She cracked a sardonic smile, clearing her throat and then proceeding, in an almost rehearsed manner.

I guessed. And then I saw how you walked, and I was sure.

He snorted, turning around slowly to reveal a grin on his face. They were now face to face, and she could still see that familiar sparkle in his sapphire eyes. They studied each other for a second, silently measuring the effects of the last few years. His grin faltered after a moment and settled into a wistful smile.

I've missed you, Alanna. Do you have any idea how much I have missed you? He stepped forward, the toes of his boots almost touching hers. She leaned forward slowly, taking both of his hands in hers. Her eyes slipped from his for a second before she tilted her head to look up at him again. Although her love for George may have burned stronger, Jonathan was still her prince.

I am sorry about the coronation, Jon. She choked back a wave of emotion. It was my duty to be there. It was my duty to you and to Roald.

He sighed softly. It was also your duty to your husband to be with him, Alanna. The coronation could go on without the Lioness. He let out a breath of air. Or even the Fair and Just King Jonathan, he admitted. He motioned to the path, and they began walking around the garden.

Everybody was surprised when they heard you were relinquishing the throne to Roald. 

Jon looked away, up at the gray winter sky. Kings are not meant to live this long. He thought about his father. And not all Kings have a Lioness defending them. He returned his gaze to her, glancing at her fondly. It was time to go, Alanna. Thayet was gone, and I was tired. Too tired to put my heart into it anymore.

Alanna grinned. I'd like to have everyone think I was responsible for the last few decades of peace, but I'm afraid that is your doing. You, Thayet, Gary, Raoul, Buri, and Myles

And you, Alanna. You have inspired us all. He lightly squeezed her hand.

She walked with him in silence for a few minutes before saying anything. Finally she had gathered her thoughts, and she opened her mouth to speak.

I started this journey for selfish means. I didn't want to learn sewing and dancing. It's hard for me to harbor thoughts that I helped change the world. I don't know when it became a crusade for women's liberation.

Jon chuckled. I think it has always been a crusade for women's liberation, you just haven't seen it. His voice grew serious. I believe I owe you a few apologies Alanna. They were rounding the path, approaching the stone bench again. Jon stopped, and this time he took both of her hands.

The title is a very selfish title. That title makes it difficult to hold any other positions like _Father_, _Husband_, and, Jon paused, clearing his throat. _friend_. Doing what you think is right for the country is often times not what is right as a person, as a friend. That's why so many of the great Kings had such abominable social lives.

Every time we have fought, Alanna, it has killed me. I think the argument about Kelandry of Mindelan dealt me the harshest blow. He sighed sadly. I am sorry Alanna. I am sorry I could not have been your king and your friend.

She reached up and hugged him fiercely, her eyes filling when she saw the tears in his eyes. She just held him for a while, embracing him as tightly as she could. It seemed decades passed before either of them were able to speak without tears.

I know Jon, I know. She didn't want to let him go, for fear of losing him to the kingdom again. I've always known that you belonged to the world, from the day you, Raoul, Gary, Francis, and Alex rescued me from Rallon on my first day here. Jon smiled, hugging her tighter, a few tears spilling down his face.

She lifted her hand to his face, wiping the tears from his cheeks.

And I knew you would come back to me when the world was done with you. Her hand drifted caressingly to his chin as she leaned forward, lips brushing his softly in a sweet kiss. He brought a hand to her hair, meeting her lips passionately, in a flood of once dormant memory. _He still kisses like a prince_, she thought.

He broke the kiss to lead her over to the old oak tree.

Its dead. She said grimly. He still had his arm around her, afraid of letting her go.

No, look again. He pointed to the portion of the tree that was still standing upright. She looked closer. A few branches held tiny little green buds.

Just because a part of the tree dies, it doesn't mean the rest of the tree cannot go on living. The scars on the tree serve as memories of the dead portion.

Both of them knew that those words were only partially about the old oak tree.

Strains of orchestra music crept through the night air as they stood, arm in arm, eyes toward, but not focused on the tree.

Do you think what's left of the tree will bloom and grow in the spring? Alanna asked, her voice faint.

Jon tilted his head, to kiss her once more. With our help, I think it will.

Suddenly she was lost in his familiar kiss, as the bittersweet music flooded the air.

Alone for a while I've been searching through the dark,   
For traces of the love you left inside my lonely heart.   
To weave by picking up the pieces that remain.   
Melodies of Life-Love's lost refrain. 

Our paths they did cross, though I cannot say just why,   
We met, we laughed, we held on fast, and then we said goodbye,   
And who'll hear the echoes of stories never told?   
Let them ring out loud till they unfold. 

In my dearest memories, I see you reaching out to me.   
While you're gone, I still believe that you can call out my name. 

A voice from the past, joining yours and mine.   
Adding up the layers of harmony.   
And so it goes, on and on.   
Melodies of life.   
To the sky beyond the flying birds-forever and beyond. 

So far and away, see the bird as it flies,  
Gliding through the shadows of the clouds up in the sky,   
I've laid my memories, and dreams upon those wings?   
Leave them now and see what tomorrow brings. 

In your dearest memories, do you remember loving me?   
Was it fate that brought us close and now leaves me behind? 

A voice from the past, joining yours and mine. 

Adding the layers of harmony.   
And so it goes, on and on.   
Melodies of life.   
To the sky beyond the flying birds-forever and beyond. 

If should I leave this lonely world behind.   
Your voice will still remember our melody.   
Now I know we'll carry on.   
Melodies of Life.   
Come circle round and grow deep in out hearts, as long as we remember. 

Melodies of Life (ENG)  
Sung by: Emiko Shiratori 

_**Author's notes and Acknowledgments: **_

Lying in bed on Sunday nights, strange thoughts often run through my head. I can never sleep. I often listen to music, forming pictures in my mindit usually relaxes mehowever, sometimes it doesn't. More often than not my mind is alive with ideas, preventing me from sleeping. While listening to Melodies of Life from Final Fantasy 9, my mind began to search for pictures to put to the music. Who relates to the song?

_Alone for a while I've been searching through the dark,   
For traces of the love you left inside my lonely heart.   
To weave by picking up the pieces that remain.   
Melodies of Life-Love's lost refrain.   
Our paths they did cross, though I cannot say just why,   
We met, we laughed, we held on fast, and then we said goodbye,   
And who'll hear the echoes of stories never told?   
Let them ring out loud till they unfold.   
_

I immediately thought of Alanna and Jon._  
_This paragraph is to all those flamers who are going to tell me that they are betraying George and Thayet. They're lonely; deal with it. I know that two of my grandparents got remarried after their spouses died, and they were very happy individuals. We don't often bring the common sense of real life into fantasy books—there is so much talk about true love and dying for love. Why spend the rest of your life lonely and miserable? I think George and Thayet would like Alanna and Jon to be happy.  
If you haven't picked up on the oodles of symbolism in this story, go back and look. This story is so jam packed with bittersweet symbolism that I almost drowned in writing it. For those of you who read fan fiction to escape from themes and symbolism, I'm sorry.   


* Symbols:
* The Garden—Alanna/Jon's life at the time of the story, and of course, where Alanna and Jon had their first true romantic encounter  
The tree—two people in love. Alanna/George, Alanna/Jon, Thayet/Jon. The splitting of the tree meant a severing of that love.  
The Bench—Love  
The Balcony—Looking down on life, being on the pedestal...being away from life  
The light as Alanna is about to jump/The warm breeze—A symbol of hope, gives light over the treeshowing her that Jon is down there.  
The groups of people Alanna passes in part 3 represent the stages in Alanna's life. Page, Squire, Knight/Lady, Her reflection is old age, and the garden represents both death and birthbecause the garden itself is suspended between life cycles. 

Other tidbits: You've probably noticed—I used some of the same quotes from ITHOTG 154 and around that area. 

Thanks to everyone for reading this!!!! 


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